


Safe Passage

by themorninglark



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, Feels, Gen, M/M, Maybe a lot of feels, Mushishi AU, Mushishi Zoku Shou, i got carried away i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/themorninglark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's said that there are invisible pathways between people… pathways that connect their minds. They flow with something like the ether of life. When two people happen to think of each other at the same time, the flow becomes more powerful. You feel it, Makoto-chan, don't you?"</p><p>(A Mushishi AU, based on the Mushishi Zoku Shou episode 「隠り江」/ <i>Hidden Cove</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Passage

**Author's Note:**

> I watched [this episode of Mushishi](http://www.crunchyroll.com/mushi-shi/episode-14-hidden-cove-664509) about the telepathic connection between two characters. This fic was, honestly, inevitable.
> 
> If you don't know Mushishi, all you need to know is that _mushi_ are supernatural entities which look like small glowy bugs and can cause a variety of phenomena to happen when they interact with a human host. They are not inherently malignant, just - as nature is - unpredictable.
> 
> If you do know Mushishi, and you know this episode, I hope I've done the AU some justice. It was crying out to be written...
> 
> ( _High Speed!_ references scattered throughout.)

_Haru? Haru, are you - are you there -_

_It's cold and dark, and I'm scared - I have to see you now, it can't be tomorrow, it has to be now..._

_Haru -_

 

  

_" - Makoto?"_

_"Haru! You're here! How did you know I was..."_

_"I heard you outside my window. You were running up the steps, and you were calling my name, so I came."_

_"You knew I was coming? Y-you heard me?"_

_"Yeah. Did you want me for something?"_

_"It's funny, but I feel better just seeing your face, I think... ah, that was weird, wasn't it?"_

_"Makoto, just... call me if you want to. Don't run off on your own like that."_

_"Okay, Haru. Thank you."_

 

* * *

 

It is on a chill winter's day when Makoto takes his seat across the table from Haruka's grandmother, his hands clasped tight around a steaming hot cup of _houjicha_ , his knees lined up awkwardly on the cushion. They are knobbly and gangly, and he is growing faster than his twelve years. It's been a long time since he sat down for tea like this.

" _Obaa-chan_ ," he greets her politely, with a small bow of his head. "Thank you for the tea."

"Ah, Makoto-chan…"

Her smile is kind, tinged with an unfathomable wisdom around the corners of her mouth, and she reaches out, lays a wrinkled, affectionate hand on top of his head like a benediction.

Makoto closes his eyes. Breathes in the scent of the roasted tea leaves.

"We haven't had a chance to talk for a while, hmm?" says Haruka's grandmother.

"No," says Makoto, smiling back. "I missed you. I'm glad your travels were safe."

"You know how our family is. Always travelling."

She laughs. Makoto laughs with her, and the sound is clear and bright as a babbling brook in the quiet stillness of the Nanases' living room.

Makoto watches as she takes a slow sip of her tea, and sets her cup down on the table.

"But I wanted to talk to you about Haruka today."

She turns those piercing blue eyes on him, eyes that are a mirror of her grandson's, that see right through to the part of Makoto's heart he keeps locked away. When she speaks again, her words echo in his mind, falling like stones down a deep, deep well.

"Before I left, I'd already started to notice it, you know? The way Haruka is, sometimes… it's like he's cut off from the world. Staring at nothing, sitting by himself, especially when he's in the water. Like his mind is somewhere else."

She pauses. Makoto swallows. His throat is dry, all of a sudden.

"He used to tell us that he could talk to you in his mind."

Her gaze is not unkind. But it is serious, filled with a familiar steely determination that makes his fingers tremble round his cup.

"He doesn't say it any more, but I know he still can. I see it in him…"

 

* * *

 

_I can't wait for the weather to turn warmer._

_"Ah Haru… you want to swim, don't you?"_

_…_

_"It really is cold now, huh?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"When it's warm, we can go to the beach."_

_"Makoto."_

_Don't go to the beach._

_"It's okay. If it's with Haru, I'll be fine."_

 

* * *

 

Makoto feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, and the fog of memory clears from his mind like mist from dawn hanging over the fields, scattering in morning's sunlight.

"The connection between the two of you… it's deep, isn't it?"

Makoto is afraid, then, and he knows she senses it, but he is afraid, not of their bond but of giving it voice, of speaking it real to someone else because he doesn't know how to put it in words. How can he?

"I'm old, Makoto-chan, and I've seen a lot," says Haruka's grandmother. "Have you ever heard of _mushi_?"

Growing up in a little town by the sea, where every story washes to shore, sooner or later, Makoto knows his folklore. Yes, he's heard of _mushi_. _Midorimono._ Creatures born from the source of life itself, the River of Light, creatures that live invisibly all around them. The very heart of all natural phenomena. Of nature itself.

A cold, clammy feeling starts to ball up in the pit of his stomach.

"It's said that there are invisible pathways between people… pathways that connect their minds. They flow with something like the ether of life. When two people happen to think of each other at the same time, the flow becomes more powerful. You feel it, Makoto-chan, don't you?"

Makoto wants to say _yes, yes - so much,_ but every muscle in his body is frozen.

"It's rare that this happens. But there is a _mushi_ that makes that connection especially strong."

Makoto blinks. He feels pinpricks of light behind his eyelids, feels a stirring on the edges of his consciousness, like the wind rustling through tall, summer-soaked reeds by the riverbank.

"A _mushi_?" he repeats, staring up at Haruka's grandmother.

"It's called _kairogi_ ," she says, enunciating the syllables carefully for Makoto.

" _Kairogi…_ "

"It lives in the consciousness of one whose ether is plentiful. Haruka has always been one like that. Perhaps it's because of our family…"

She doesn't elaborate. Taking another sip of tea, she pauses, and Makoto watches those slender fingers curve round the cup with the grace of age, of one who has seen the world, in places where humans do not leave footprints.

"Perhaps," she says, thoughtfully, "it's just him. Haruka is special."

He is. Makoto knows that, knows the pure simplicity of this truth like he knows the sea is blue.

"What is _kairogi_ , _obaa-chan_?" he asks.

"When it joins with the mind of its host, it lets them use those pathways to send thoughts to other people. Just as Haruka sends his to you. It won't hurt him. But if a person uses a _kairogi_ too long or too often, it begins to gain a life of its own."

Her tea is almost out. Makoto picks up the pot at the centre of the table, and pours a fresh cup for her. His hands, often so clumsy, shake a little; some of the hot tea splashes out, leaving little droplets on the placemat.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" he cries.

"It's okay, Makoto-chan."

Her words are patient, and when she wipes away the spilled tea with her handkerchief, her movements are steady, measured.

Makoto sits back down on his cushion. He takes a deep breath.

"What does it mean when the _kai_ \- the _kairogi_ gains a life of its own?"

"It means the host will start to lose himself," she says, simply.

"Lose… lose himself?"

"He will fade. Out of consciousness. Out of our waking world. Until one day - "

Makoto looks down, curls his hands in his lap and presses his knuckles to his knees, so hard it feels like they're going to leave a bruise. He thinks of Haruka, sitting at the top of the steps, gazing into the sunset. He thinks of how high they used to swing in the playground.

Even when Haruka flew, up, up, in the air, while Makoto's feet stayed on the ground, grassy soil firm beneath the soles of his shoes, they were always connected.

 

* * *

 

_"Haru-chan, wait for me! I'm coming."_

_"Hurry up."_

  
_The sky is so blue, Makoto.  
_ _I want you to touch it, too._

 

* * *

 

Makoto looks up. Haruka's grandmother holds his gaze firmly, tenderly.

"What should I do, _obaa-chan_?"

"Makoto-chan… I'm sorry I had to tell you this," she says, stroking his hair again. "But you're Haruka's best friend. You love him more than anyone. I know you'll know what to do."

And he does. The thought is in his mind like a creeping shadow, and he flinches, turns his face away, but he knows it is there, like that monster beneath the sea that he is frightened of.

Maybe it's finally time to face it. _Without Haru._

In that moment, his heart feels like it is made of splintered glass.

"By the way…"

Haruka's grandmother reaches into her robe, and pulls out a small folded packet of brown paper, tied securely with string.

"If someone uses the _kairogi_ to talk to another person very often… it's likely that they, too, will become affected by it."

She takes Makoto's hand in hers, and presses the packet into his palm. As she closes her delicate fingers over his own, he's struck by how fragile she feels, paper-thin skin brushing his knuckles, and yet - how sure - how strong her grip is.

"Take this medicine, Makoto-chan," she says gently. "It will be okay."

 

* * *

 

When the first days of March come around, Haruka and Makoto stand under their tree in the school courtyard to shelter from the passing shower, and Makoto plucks a fallen leaf out of Haruka's hair.

"I'm moving away."

Haruka says nothing.

In his head, Makoto hears a wordless silence, the sound of wind rushing through the hollow of an empty space.

"Once the term ends. I'm moving. I won't be going to middle school here," he says.

He wants to turn his gaze to the sky, turn it anywhere but straight at Haruka, but - if he can't tell Haruka the whole truth, if he wants to protect him - _like Haru's always protected me_ -

He owes it to him, at the very least, to look him in the eye.

So he does. And Haruka's eyes are like the ocean, tides churning on the surface above a deep, dark world below that stirs up swirling eddies in Makoto's mind.

Haruka says nothing, still, and Makoto doesn't dare to blink, for if he loses sight of this, he might give way after all, might cave to the current that's tugging at his very soul itself.

He lets go of the leaf between his fingers, and watches it fall to the ground.

 

* * *

 

Makoto's new school is far away. He lives with his aunt and uncle there, and writes letters home to his parents, sends them with drawings and pressed flowers for Ran and Ren.

He does not write to Haruka. But in his letters to his family, he says, _take care of Haru._

He is student rep for the library. He likes the books there, develops a love for Japanese literature, and in his spare time, he keeps on swimming. He makes friends with his classmates, his teammates. With his easy smile, it isn't all that hard for him. It's never been. And yet -

He can't forget the view from the mountain in Iwatobi. The way the sea sparkles beneath the dying light, fading, fading fast and far in the distance. He can't forget the grooves he's worn on those steps, the smell of fish, the way the sand gets between his toes.

At night, he takes a dose of herbs with warm water before bed. They taste nasty, like liquorice, but he forces himself. His nights are dreamless.

And the voices that he tries so hard to shut out grow fainter, further away, with the passing of each morning.

 

* * *

 

_Makoto!_

_Haru, no - I can't depend on you any more, it's not -_

_Don't be stupid. I told you, didn't I?  
_ _I told you to just call me if you want._

 

_…I'm going now, Haru._

 

* * *

 

The summer is warm, and the oranges are sweet on Makoto's tongue. At the _combini_ , after school, he doesn't spend long deliberating over the ice cream; he buys the soda blue popsicle for two out of habit, and then eats both halves by himself when he remembers where he is now.

The pool is crowded here at Sano SC. There are many strong swimmers.

Makoto clasps his hands behind his back, and listens to the sound of the water lapping at the tiled floor. It's cool beneath his feet.

"You're spacing out again, Makoto," says his friend, the redheaded hurricane that is Matsuoka Rin, snapping his goggles as he comes up to stand next to Makoto at the starting blocks.

"A-am I?"

"Yeah. C'mon. Let's swim."

And Makoto watches Rin bend down, tense and coiled like a spring, watches him dive into the water, thinks that Rin would really love swimming with Haruka because they swim the same way. Bodies vibrating with energy.

 

Makoto's mind always wanders back to the blue-eyed boy he left behind.

 

 

 

 

_Are you there, Makoto?_

_Can you still hear me?_

_…was it such a shameful thing, to rely on me?  
_ _Tell me the truth._

 

_Makoto?_

 

* * *

 

Haruka's eyes are already open when he jolts awake.

"Haruka," he hears his grandmother call, her voice strained to breaking, her frame small and frail in the moonlit shadows of his bedroom. "Haruka."

 _Baa-chan_ , he mouths, but the words won't come out. They are stilled in his throat, like the thoughts that he tries to desperately to send in his mind.

Her hand goes to his brow. "You're sweating."

Haruka shivers in the wind gusting through the door, feels his shirt sticking to his back. He wraps his arms around himself tightly. It doesn't make him feel any warmer, but funnily enough, it's not like he's cold, either - it's more like -

Like the air is blowing straight through him. Like he's not really here.

"Drink this," says his grandmother.

She holds a cup out to Haruka. He takes it. It's an odd-smelling tea, like liquorice, herbal, with dried flowers; he has smelled all kinds of herbs in his house, and this one rings a faint sort of bell.

He takes a long sip.

"You gave this to me the night that Makoto moved away," he says, quietly. "Is it one of your special teas?"

She nods. "Mmm."

"What does it do?"

"It calms your mind."

Haruka knows what his grandmother does. He is older, now, and he's heard enough of her stories to put two and two together.

"Is it medicine? For a _mushi_?" he asks.

And looking straight at her, he meets a gaze that's as unyielding as it is kind.

"Yes," she says.

Haruka sets the tea down on the floor.

"Does it have to do with Makoto?"

"Yes," she says again, and Haruka's always liked that about her, that she is honest, that she knows children are stronger than they seem, and that Haruka will not be lied to about Makoto.

"Makoto-chan is taking the medicine too," she adds, softly.

Haruka looks at the cup. He's drunk just a few mouthfuls of it. The taste lingers on the roof of his mouth, the back of his tongue, bitter and strange.

"Will you just leave it here, _baa-chan_?" he asks. "It's too hot to drink now."

The look she gives him as she gets up to leave is long and lingering, and Haruka knows that _she_ knows what's in his mind. She's always known, even without a _mushi_ to connect them.

He falls asleep fitfully, the rest of the tea untouched.

 

* * *

 

Autumn comes far too swiftly for Haruka's liking, bringing with it cool breezes from the sea, rippling waves that wash seashells to shore, and leaves that crunch beneath the wheels of his bicycle.

In October, Haruka's grandmother passes away in her sleep.

After the funeral, Haruka throws open the windows of his house. He does not cry, because the tears will not come. They are frozen somewhere inside of him. It is all he can do to curl his fists tighter, grip the edge of his windowsill with trembling fingers, and continue to stand on his own two feet.

Perhaps this numbness, too, is because of a _mushi_ ; it's what he tells himself anyway, even as he knows the lie.

He lets the wind in. Breathes in the salt of the ocean.

And for that one night only, he sees -

White shapes on the air, glowing symbols that burst forth from the ether, writhing with _life_.

 _Ah_ , thinks Haruka.

 

* * *

 

He falls asleep with his windows still open, and when he wakes with a cold the next morning, he wraps a scarf round his neck and goes out for a walk by the riverbank.

"The water will cure me," he tells his parents.

His mother looks at him with worry in her eyes, and lays a hand on his cheek. "Are you sure you're okay? You feel a little warm… you should rest."

"I'll come back soon," he promises. "I just want some fresh air."

But Haruka's footsteps are heavy today, and his palms stick clammily to his gloves in his pockets; today, he finds no relief from the rushing brook, not even when he follows it all the way to its source, to the shores of the sea itself.

_The water is cold._

He stands next to a jagged rock, watches the tide go out and bends down to touch his fingers to the pale white seafoam. His knees feel weak. He is thirsty.

_Maybe I should go back._

But as he turns, his heel, wedged in the soft wet sand, gives way; he falls backwards against the rock and slides into the water -

The tide pulls, hard. Haruka feels the waves wash over his head.

Overhead, the clouds are turning grey.

 

* * *

  

_Makoto -_

_Remember when I said I wanted you to touch the sky? Because it was so blue…  
_ _You told me. After that. That it made you happy, and you weren't afraid to swim, when you looked up at the sky._

_It made me happy too._

 

_Makoto, the sky is really grey now - and Baa-chan, she's gone…_

_The water is cold._

 

_Makoto - !_

 

* * *

 

And at Sano Middle School, in the middle of a math test, Tachibana Makoto drops his pencil and lets out a sharp, strangled cry that makes the whole room turn to stare.

 

* * *

 

"Haru? _Haru!_ "

 _This is a dream_ , thinks Haruka. And then, as he feels the hand on his shoulders, the cracked, anguished voice calling his name, he thinks, _no, it's not._

"Makoto?" he murmurs, eyelids fluttering open.

He is in his room at home. He is lying back with the covers over him, and -

He is there.

Makoto is there, in the flesh. Hovering behind him, standing stiffly in a corner, is a boy with red hair that Haruka doesn't recognise; he must be one of Makoto's new classmates, thinks Haruka.

He turns his gaze back to the green-eyed boy next to his bed.

_It really is Makoto._

In the months that Haruka hasn't seen him, he has grown. He's awkward, still; still holds himself like he's too conscious of his own body, but he is taller, and his grip is strong, his arms sturdy and muscled. He must have kept up the swimming, thinks Haruka.

"I heard you," Makoto whispers. "You were calling my name, Haru."

And it all comes rushing back to Haruka then, his delirious, fevered thoughts as the water swept him under.

"You were running a high temperature. Your mother's gone to the clinic with the doctor to get more medicine. Haru, they said it was a miracle…"

Haruka sees Makoto's bottom lip start to tremble, even as he tries to smile.

"Makoto. Why are you here?"

Makoto's hands twist round the hem of his jacket. He's frayed it from tugging at the threads, Haruka can see; old habits, it seems, still linger.

"I didn't know what to do. I was so far away. So I called your home, and said you were in trouble near the sea, and I caught the first train over."

Haruka sits up abruptly, ignoring Makoto's frantic yelp of protest.

"I thought you took the medicine," he says.

Makoto freezes.

For a split second, Haruka sees his eyes go wide, glaze over so they're muddy green in the dim light and he can't see _behind_ , can't see what Makoto's thinking -

At the back of Haruka's mind, an old, familiar breeze rustles through the edges of his consciousness.

" _Obaa-chan_ … she told you? About the _mushi_?"

"I asked her," says Haruka.

Makoto pauses. He looks down at his hands, spreading them on his lap, open and helpless.

"I took almost all of it. But in the end, Haru, I just couldn't take the last dose. I - I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear the thought that I might never hear you again."

Haruka feels a lump rise in his throat. He looks away, because he can't look at Makoto like this.

"I didn't take it either," he mutters.

"I know, Haru. That's why you could reach me today, isn't it? And I'm glad, Haru, I'm so glad you're okay, but - "

Makoto's hands grip the black fabric of his school pants, so _tightly_ , with such strength that Haruka thinks it might tear over the kneecaps, and he nearly reaches out to place a hand on Makoto's, to uncurl those fingers and let them rest in his palm.

"We can't go on like this. The _kairogi_ will get stronger. And then one day, Haru, you'll be gone," says Makoto.

The breath that Haruka lets out is long and quiet.

The words are hard to say. He wants to say them in his mind, wants to have Makoto read them there instead, but he knows that he shouldn't, knows what Makoto hasn't said -

That it's not just him. The _kairogi_ will take Makoto, too.

"It's hard without Makoto," he whispers to no one in particular, and he turns to look out the window at the drizzle and the bare trees outside, remembers springtime's leaves falling in his hair.

"I appreciate you being here for me."

He _hears_ Makoto start, in his mind, before he hears the scrape of the chair on the ground and the small gasp from Makoto's lips.

"Haru?"

"Hey - "

The voice that rings out now is unfamiliar. Haruka turns.

It's the red-haired boy. He's been silent all this while, and when he speaks, he doesn't stir from his corner. He holds himself with an easy sort of confidence, back straight, hands in pockets. Haruka isn't quite sure what to make of him.

"Ah, Haru, this is my friend from Sano, Matsuoka Rin. I'm sorry I didn't introduce you…"

"No, I'm sorry for barging into your house like this, Nanase," says Matsuoka, giving Haruka a sudden, apologetic smile. "I just thought Makoto shouldn't be alone on the train. He was…"

Matsuoka's voice trails off as Haruka exchanges a glance with him, and Haruka inclines his head at the unspoken understanding they've reached, in the space of those few wordless seconds.

The nod that Matsuoka returns is brusque and short.

"Anyway - listen, maybe I don't really understand, but - even if you take the medicine, and that telepathic _mushi_ gets weaker, you can just - see each other, can't you?"

Makoto turns to stare at Matsuoka as well. "Huh?"

"I know the train ride takes a while, and your parents aren't so keen to let you travel alone, but… you don't have to let that stop you. Just do whatever it takes to see each other."

And Matsuoka says this like it is the simplest thing in the world. To know what they want, to _reach_ for it, through time and distance. No matter what.

And maybe, that's how it is.

The realisation dawns on Haruka like sunrise over the horizon. He looks at Makoto, _here_ in person, Makoto's hands, Makoto's shoulders, grown so broad and dependable, and he thinks, it was this that he missed after all - _this_ , that he hadn't known he craved till it was gone -

Not just Makoto in his mind, but the very presence of him, steady by his side.

They don't even need to speak.

The silence passes, broken only by the distant cry of gulls outside. Matsuoka's gaze flicks from Makoto to Haruka. It's fiery and direct, igniting something in the embers of Haruka's tired, drowsy mind.

 _There are people like that_ , thinks Haruka, who live their lives outside their heads, with the sensation of immediacy, of being _alive_.

"I guess you're right, Rin," Makoto says, his voice tinged with a hesitant wonder. "I guess we could try, couldn't we, Haru?"

_Or -_

_Just move back to Iwatobi._

Makoto turns back to him, and as a wistful smile blossoms on his face, Haruka knows that he'd heard the thought - maybe, they'd both had the same thought at the same time…

But he knows, too, in that moment, that moving back isn't an option; that if Makoto moved back, that if he was just _there_ , all the time, it would be far too tempting to use that forbidden pathway in their minds again.

Makoto leans in close and whispers softly, his breath tickling the shell of Haruka's ear.

"One day. I promise. When the _kairogi_ is gone for good. Until then - "

"I'll come and visit," says Haruka. "Keep a light on for me."

 

 

 

 

_"Haru! You're here!"_

_"Makoto."_

_"Come in. You had a long journey."_

_"It was okay. Thanks for leaving your front porch light on… how did you know I was coming?"_

_"I don't know. I just knew."_

_"But I didn't call you in my mind, this time."_

_"Eh? You didn't?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Well, I guess… I just had a feeling it would be you, Haru."_

 

\- 終わり -


End file.
